


P.D.A.

by themetaphornextdoor



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Crack, Humor, M/M, Sassy Castiel, Wordcount: 100-1.000
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-03
Updated: 2014-10-03
Packaged: 2018-02-19 17:26:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 775
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2396666
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/themetaphornextdoor/pseuds/themetaphornextdoor
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Rating: PG-15<br/>Summary: PDAs are discussed, Cas gets sassy and salt shakers are in danger.<br/>Warnings: Un-punctuated acronyms, pouty Cas, immature Dean and crack. Lots of crack. Crackity crack crack. Really, don’t take a word of this seriously.<br/>Notes: So, I spun the trope wheel and got <i>so many,</i> then added <i>five inches </i>of crack.<br/>It’s not even the sexy kind. I’m so, so sorry.</p>
            </blockquote>





	P.D.A.

 

“Cas, there’s really no such thing as an acceptable PDA, okay?”

Cas squinted.

Dean sighed.

“Public Displays Of Affection?”

“Oh.”

Dean glanced around the diner, but the rest of the customers were absorbed in their own conversations. He leaned forward and lowered his voice anyway.

“Man, I get it, okay, but you really can’t just bite my bottom lip in the middle of Walmart. It’s… it’s embarrassing.” Dean shrugged and rubbed at the back of his neck. “And, well, we’re hunters, Cas, we need to blend in. We’ve kinda got it down to a fine art, you know?”

Cas nodded, but Dean still registered the slight downturn of the angel’s lips as he looked away. If he wasn’t mistaken, there was a little spark of annoyance hiding there too. Though small, it was hovering dangerously close to Cas-Code for ‘ _about-to-flip-out-and-smite-a-salt-shaker_ ’.

Dean tried to back pedal.

“Hey, hey, you can eye-sex, right?” he said quickly, grinning at the new term he’d coined for the angel’s unwavering stare. “You like that. That’s… that’s okay I guess. Not that many people notice when, ah…” he trailed off.

This was getting ridiculous.

Maybe he should have just let the salt shaker go.

Cas’ brow furrowed. “You don’t mind me staring at you in public?” he asked.

Dean shifted in his seat, and the cheap plastic squeaked loudly. Why the hell were relationships so complicated? It was like they were two different species or something.

“Uh, yeah. Sure.”

“That’s acceptable?”

“Yeah Cas, that’s okay.”

“But you just said there was _no such thing_ as an acceptable Public Display Of Affection,” Cas said, complete with his endearingly awkward air quotes. Although the endearing part was definitely questionable at that particular moment.

Dean pinched the bridge of his nose and counted to ten. Maybe he should be taking notes.

Then he noticed the slight quirk at the corner of Cas’ mouth. _Son of a bitch._

“All right, all right, that’s the only one though, okay, Mr. Literal?” he said, pointing at Cas. “Promise me?” He glanced around again. “We really can’t freak out any more old people.”

Cas nodded and pressed his lips together in what counted as a smile for the angel. Dean examined it and decided it was Cas-Code for ‘ _mildly-pleased_ ’ and not the frighteningly similar looking ‘ _so-happy-I’m-going-to-fuck-you-right-here-in-the-middle-of-the-dog-food-aisle_.’

A piece of bacon was speared and on it’s way to his mouth when Cas spoke next.

“On one condition,” he said, so quietly Dean only just heard him.

Oh. This couldn’t end well. He stared forlornly at the bacon before slowly, reverently laying it back on the plate. _Another time, my friend, another time_ , he promised.

“Oh?” Dean raised an eyebrow, trying for nonchalant.

“Yes, I’d like a similar promise from you Dean. I’d also like you to vow to keep your PDAs to a minimum in public.”

Dean spluttered. “What? When have I ever - ”

“I’d like you to promise not to explain every single reference you think I may not understand. If I don’t I’ll ask, I’m not a child, Dean. I’d like you to stop telling people I’m your ‘special’ friend. I’d like you to stop asking waitresses if they have fashion tips for me. I’d like you to stop stealing food from my plate. I’d like you to stop deliberately trying to find cultural references I don’t get and turning them in to obscene jokes in order to shock me. I’d like you to stop ‘teasing’ me when I do something uncommon - ”

“Cas,” Dean interrupted, feeling a little guilty. “They’re not really, ah, displays of affect - ”

“ – and I’d like you to stop pinching me and pulling my hair,” he finished with more than a touch of irritation.

“Uh.” Dean paused. He felt like a schoolboy getting a lecture on maturity and while the term ‘affection’ might be stretching it… well, yeah. He probably deserved that one.

He looked down when he felt a blush beginning to color his cheeks. The maple syrup on Cas’ pancakes was _fascinating_.

“Right, um,” he cleared his throat. “Yeah. Okay.”

Cas dipped his head to catch Dean’s eyes again, a questioning look on his face. Dean noticed a light smear of syrup on Cas’ bottom lip and resisted the temptation to tease him. He also, quite valiantly he thought, resisted inviting him to the bathroom for a personal demonstration on proper facial hygiene.

“Err. I promise?” Dean tried.

He liked to think Cas’ smile definitely had a hint of ‘ _someone’s-getting-an-extra-nice-blowjob-tonight_ ’, but the salt shaker had somehow disappeared from the table and Dean decided that trying to understand angels just wasn't worth the aneurysm.

And anyway, they needed all the salt they could get.


End file.
